Gimme Shelter
by Jane Harper
Summary: It's 1969 and Leo McGarry is home from Southeast Asia. War was just a shot away; love was just a kiss away.


Gimme Shelter

Jane Harper

This one's for Mela, without whom I would still be trying to figure out how to make it work, and for Tana who let me steal some lines. 

"Oh my," she said to herself as she opened the long-ignored box. "I forgot I had this here." She pulled the brass frame out and polished the glass with her sleeve. "I haven't wanted to hang this up for ages. What the hell, we have more than enough room now."

She dug out the toolbox and drove a brad into the stud to hold the frame. Her college diploma. She moved back to look at it, then grinned and went into the den to dig through her CD collection. In a couple of minutes, the pounding rhythms of rock & roll filled her home, Keith Richards' guitar and and Merry Clayton's voice: "War . . . children . . . it's just a shot away, it's just a shot away . . . "

* * * * *

December 4, 1969

the University of Southern California campus

"Student Mobilization Against the War," she said into the phone. "Fuck Hoover, how may I direct your call?"

Invariably, the person on the other end of the phone laughed. Sometimes, the connection broke, or resounded with clicks and hums. In the latter case, she would add, "You guys click if you need me to spell anything!"

Of course at 3 AM just about anything is hysterically funny.

The day shift dragged their sorry asses in between 6 and 8, but she didn't usually leave until the speed wore off, around 10 or 11 in the morning. After that, it was a race to see if she could get home before coming in for a crash landing. This hazy December morning, as she left George shouted after her, "Hey, Mack! Wanna drive up to see the Stones tomorrow?"

"Up the Grapevine? Are you nuts?" She slung her bag over her shoulder.

The bespectacled young man sprinted to catch up with her as she strode briskly up University Avenue toward 34th Street. "Mack, wait up!"

"No, George, you're not gonna talk me into driving up Highway 5 all the way to San Francisco."

"OK, I'll drive."

"Right, in my new car. Over my dead body."

"Hey, you've never been in a car while I was driving."

"Why don't _you_ drive _yours_?"

"Winifred would never make it over the Grapevine." He passed her and turned, walking backwards so he could face her. "Your car will, it's brand new!"

They stopped in front of the library and sat down at the fountain. She turned to look him in the eye. "George, take the beans out of your ears, jump-start that cannabinol-soaked brain, and listen. This time of year the thule fog is thick enough to cut with a knife. We can't drive up tomorrow during the day because I have a final exam, so we'd have to drive all tomorrow night. Ergo, through the fog. There's no way I'm going to risk life and limb for the privilege of freezing on a dirt speedway track, or worse, getting stuck three miles away trying to hear faint strains of _Satisfaction_ carried by the wind in the wrong direction!"

"God, you're a bitch when you're crashing," he moaned.

"Yeah well," she shot back at him as she got up and headed back to her dorm.

Argument notwithstanding, at midnight the next night they locked up the Student Mobe offices, piled in her brand new metallic blue 1969 Mustang and headed up Interstate 5. And she was right, the fog was thick enough to chew; around about Fresno they spent what seemed like an eternity driving fifteen miles an hour on the freeway, praying not to get flattened by a semi. The seven-hour trip became nine, then ten hours long, and they were exhausted by the time they reached the Altamont Pass between Stockton and Livermore.

They piled out of the car as close to the Speedway as they could get, and hiked up the hill to a place where they could see the stage very well, and hear too. It was still morning and nothing was scheduled to start for awhile, and Mack was beginning to crash. She put her ragged rug bag under her head and dozed off.

"Wake up. They're starting."

"All I hear is tuning. Wake me up when there's real music."

"Come on, at least eat something. It's almost noon."

"George, you're a nag. You'll make somebody a good wife someday."

He laughed and handed her a sandwich.

After lunch, Mother Nature took her accustomed course and she went looking for the Porta-Potties. On her way down the hill she heard a voice behind her call, "Hey Mack!"

Turning around, she ran headlong into someone who had also spun in his tracks, both of them simultaneously yelling back. "What???" She and the young man in the pea coat looked at one another and laughed.

"Sorry," she said. "I thought that was aimed at me."

"Don't go 'way," he said with a crooked grin, and dashed off to find out what his friend wanted.

Ok, she thought, he's kinda cute. She continued down the hill, but more slowly, turning to see if he was coming behind. After a few minutes she felt a hand on her elbow and turned to see him again. He stuck out his hand.

"Hi, Mack," he offered.

"Nice to meet you, Mack," she answered.

And they both laughed.

When her errand was complete, he walked back up the hill with her. She noticed he had started to favor his right leg and slowed down a little. "Hurt yourself?" she asked.

"Jets with holes in them fall down, go boom," he replied with a sheepish look.

"Ouch," she responded. "'Nam?"

He nodded. "More or less. I fell down on the wrong side of the border."

As they approached the top of the hill, she pointed to her right. "My friends are over this way."

"OK, lemme go grab my stuff and I'll come find you. OK?"

She nodded and started back toward her group. The tuning was turning to music, and figures were beginning to take the stage.

"Who are those guys?" she asked her companions.

"Never heard of 'em," Dan replied. "Some Spanish name."

Lani frowned in thought. "Santana? Is that a name?"

Mack laid back on the grass and closed her eyes against the sun, but a few minutes later she found herself in the shade. She looked up at the guy in the pea coat. "Hey Mack," she said, laughing. "Guys, this is . . . " She waited a beat. "Well we can't both be Mack, life's confusing enough at it is."

"That's OK," the newcomer said. "I was only Mack in the Navy. It's Leo, Leo McGarry."

She pointed to her friends. "George and Dan Sullivan, Lani Williams."

"And you are?" he asked.

Laughing, she answered, "Mack McCarthy. _Everybody_ calls me Mack."

He sat down on the grass next to her, all of them moving closer together as the music got louder.

"Where are you from?" Leo asked the assembled group.

"USC," George answered. "We drove up last night."

"Great!" he said. "Can I catch a ride down with you? I'm headed that way."

Mack laughed. "Sure, we can cram one more in my car." She pointed at Dan and Lani. "Those two are friendly."

"So you just got back?" Dan asked him.

"Is it that obvious?"

They all laughed, and Mack leaned in toward his ear. "It's the haircut."

"Oh yeah," he responded, blushing a little, running his hand through the sandy-red 'do.

Lani patted his shoulder. "Don't worry, it's cute, and besides, it'll grow out."

* * * * *

It was late into the evening when the crowd began to disperse. There had been some kind of scuffle down by the stage earlier on, but it died down and the music went on for some time afterwards, and nobody moved until everything was over. Mack and her friends hiked back to the car, but it was a long time before they could get back on the highway, and once they did the first order of business was to find somewhere to get some food. Not only did they have the munchies from the purple haze hanging over the crowd, but their own provisions had run out hours before.

Denny's to the rescue.

The five of them piled into a booth and pooled their money to see what they could manage to buy, then ordered off the menu. Their new friend was very quiet.

"What's the matter?" Mack asked him as George climbed out of the booth to go find the men's room.

"I'm embarrassed," he murmured. "My pay hadn't caught up with me when I left the hospital, so what you see here is what I've got. I have some major money in my bank back in Boston, but that's there and this is here."

"Got your checkbook?" she asked, handing him back the bills he had laid on the table.

He nodded.

"No problem then, just write me a check when we get to LA and I'll cash it."

"Thanks." He stared out the window for a minute then looked back at her. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Are you and George . . . you know . . . ?"

Dan and Lani looked at one another and laughed. "Leo, George wouldn't know how to 'you know' if you gave him a diagram," Lani said. "He's got a tremendous crush on Mack but hasn't done anything about it, and God knows he's had the chance."

He laughed. "Oh, ok. I didn't want to . . . you know . . . "

"You didn't?" Lani shot back. "Coulda fooled me! What kind of sailor are you anyway?"

He blushed—bright pink—and shoved the food around on his plate. "No kind," he responded. "Never was. All I ever wanted to do was fly."

"Must be rough," Dan said. "What happened?"

"Got shot down, on the wrong side of the border."

"North of the DMZ?" Mack asked.

"Nope."

"What other border—" She dropped her fork. "What other border is there?"

"Can't say," he answered, studying his waffles.

The others all looked at one another. There had been stories—rumors really—in the Movement about illegal incursions into Laos, into Cambodia; could those be the borders he meant?

"Look," he went on, "the other guy doesn't care about the niceties of international law. I'm supposed to turn tail and run because he crossed an imaginary line on the ground?"

"Well, yeah," Dan said. "Somebody has to care, don't they? Otherwise, why even have international law?"

Leo looked from one to another of his companions, then put down his utensils and got up. "Thanks for the ride," he said, and started for the door.

George got back to the booth just as Mack was getting up to follow. "What happened?" he asked. "John Wayne throw a temper tantrum?"

"Go fuck yourself," Mack said, and ran to catch Leo. He had already gotten to the middle of the parking lot. "Hey Mack!" she yelled after him.

He stopped.

"Hey, he didn't mean anything," she said, breathless, as she caught up with him.

"They warned me about people like you," he spat.

She grabbed his arm. "Wait just a goddamn minute. What's that supposed to mean?"

"You didn't tell me you were one of _them_."

"If by _them _you mean people who think you shouldn't have been where you were, doing what you were doing, then yeah, I'm one of _them_. If you mean people who blame the vets for the war, then no, I'm not. It's not like you were in charge."

"No ma'am, I wasn't. I did what I was told. But I thought it was the right thing to do; otherwise why volunteer? I coulda waited for the draft."

Mack began to shiver in the wind and the darkness. "Come back inside? It's cold out here. We can at least argue where it's warm."

He grinned. "Yeah. Or you can just take my coat." He unbuttoned his pea-coat and started to take it off.

"Then you'll be cold," she said, and slid up next to him in the opening of the coat.

He put both arms around her. "No chance."

She grinned back.

"So," he went on, "you wanna fight or . . . " He leaned in toward her.

"Or," she answered. "Definitely or."

* * * * *

Morning was just breaking when they got back into LA. They stopped to drop George at the offices; he had actually slept part of the way home so he was best equipped to deal with trying to be functional.

"You going back to the dorm?" Lani asked Mack.

She looked over at Leo and back at Lani and Dan. "Where else is there?"

Lani got a sly grin. "Well, I could give you the keys to my place, and I could go over to Dan's . . . "

Mack blushed but took the keys from Lani's outstretched hand. When they got to Dan's place, she hugged her two friends and laughed when Dan whispered, "Be careful." Back at Lani's place, she let the two of them in. She and Leo took off their coats and threw them on an overstuffed chair.

Then they stood and looked at one another, separated by an awkward silence. He broke the quiet and reached for her hands. "You as tired as I am?" he asked.

She nodded with a sigh of relief. "I could sleep until tomorrow. And I haven't had a long sleep since day before yesterday."

"And you drove all that way?" he asked with a low whistle.

"Well I had help," she responded. "Of several varieties." She reached into her jeans pocket and pulled out a plastic bag with a dozen or so green and black capsules.

Leo made a face. "We used to use that shit when we had to keep flying. You pay the price after awhile." He pulled her in close to him and put his arms around her waist. "Want me to sleep on the sofa?"

She blushed a little, again. "Do you want to?"

He looked her in the eye. "No."

"OK." She pulled back from him and walked into the bedroom, peeling off her shoes, sweater and jeans, leaving just her T-shirt and cotton underwear. He followed, taking off his sweater but stopping there. She snuggled herself under the comforter. "You gonna sleep in those?" she asked, pointing at his jeans.

He sat down on the side of the bed opposite her. "Mack I gotta ask you something."

"OK."

"How old are you?"

"Eighteen."

"Oboy. I thought you were . . . older."

She laughed. "Yeah most people do. Maybe 'cause I was never really a kid."

He lay back on top of the covers, hands behind his head and ankles crossed. "You too? Were there younger kids in the house?"

"Nope. You?"

"Three. One brother and two sisters. My brother . . . he died in country last year." He looked away briefly.

"Couldn't you have gone home then as sole surviving son?"

His eyebrows went up. "How do you know about that?"

"I do some volunteer draft counseling, and I work with . . . " She searched his face with her eyes. "I work with resisters."

He waited a minute and then laughed nervously. "You really _are_ one of those people my CO warned me about!"

It was Mack's turn to look the other way. "Well I'll tell you what, I really need to get some sleep, then I'll take you wherever you need to go."

He turned over to face her. "Hey, are you blowing me off?"

"Well, no . . . I figured you wouldn't want to hang around one of _those_ _people_ any longer than necessary."

"Touché," he said. "I had that coming."

"So," she asked, "you gonna sleep in your clothes?"

"I better," he answered. "Some parts of me aren't as tired as others, and . . . Well, I just don't want to be—"

"Well at least get under the damn covers," she laughed. "It's December, for cryin' out loud."

He pulled the comforter down and slipped under it, and before he could turn over she had scooted toward him and put her head on his shoulder. In a handful of minutes, though, she was fast asleep.

* * * * * (TWW)

Mack woke up to the gentle sensation of a hand stroking her face.

"Hey," he murmured in her ear, "you gonna sleep all afternoon? Lani's gonna want her place back pretty soon."

"No she's not," she said with a chuckle. "She and Dan'll stay in bed for days. But I should go back to the dorm and take my medicine."

"Your medicine? You OK?"

She laughed. "Not that kind of medicine. They yell at me every so often for staying out all night. They yell at me for forgetting to sign in and out. They'd blame the Santa Anas on me if they could."

"What's a Santa Ana?"

"It's a hot wind that blows in off the interior sometimes. If you ask me, the only hot wind coming from this campus emanates from Administration."

"Spoken like a true rebel." He grinned and kissed her on the forehead.

She pouted. "What am I, your little sister?"

"No," he said. "You're definitely neither one of my little sisters." He reached down and tipped her face up toward him, kissing her tenderly at first, then with building passion. As she melted into his embrace, she was having trouble catching her breath; and when she felt something moving between them, it made her realize that he hadn't stayed in his jeans. She froze.

"What's the matter?" he murmured.

She didn't answer.

"You ok?"

She didn't respond.

"Oh geez," he said. "Tell me you're—" He rolled his eyes and looked up at the ceiling.

She pulled back from him. "I'm sorry. It's not like it's my fault y'know. I mean, I been hanging out on street-corners with a 'For Sale' sign, but there haven't been any takers."

He stared at her a second, then grinned. "Hey, I'm not angry. _Or_ disappointed. I'm just surprised." He pulled her back in toward him, wrapping her tightly in his arms. "And a little flattered, actually,"

"OK."

He gazed intently at her. "You scared?"

She nodded, a little sheepishly. "Weren't you, your first time?"

"Shhhh! We're not supposed to be, it's a guy thing." He flashed a lopsided grin for a second. "You sure about this?" he asked, his face serious once more.

She nodded again. Hands shaking slightly, she reached down to start to pull her t-shirt off.

"Let me," he whispered.

* * * * *

Lani didn't come back that night, or the next, nor did Mack and Leo wander far. Late that Tuesday afternoon, he used her phone card to call a friend in England.

"You sure you're ok about this?" he asked nervously.

She kissed him on the nose. "Of course. I mean, you're not gonna talk for hours, right?"

"Just long enough to find out if he wants company." The operator rang back and he picked up the phone. His face lit up a second later.

Mack went into the kitchen to try to do something about dinner, but she could still hear some of the conversation.

"So how the hell are you? How's Abbey? You Chancellor of the Exchequer yet?" He laughed. "I'm in LA. Los Angeles, Jed. No, nobody in particular. Well, that is, I didn't know anybody here until last Saturday . . . Of course it's a girl! You wanna say hi?" He covered up the mouthpiece with his hand. "Hey Mack! C'mere and say hi to my best friend."

She laughed to herself and came out of the kitchen, dishtowel in hand.

Leo handed her the phone. "Say hi to Jed Bartlet. He's in England."

"Hi," she said.

"Hi," a voice answered, sounding hollow and from very far away.

An awkward silence ensued, and Leo frowned, taking the phone back. "Well aren't you just the conversationalist, Josiah! Forget how to talk to a girl?"

She went back into the kitchen and did her best to ignore him, and a few minutes later he came out to join her. Walking up behind her, he wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his face in her hair. She put the salad bowl down and turned around.

"When are you leaving?" she asked quietly.

"Soon as I can get a transport out to Boston. I'm gonna visit Mom then head for London."

"Okay."

"I'm coming back, I swear to God."

She forced a smile. "I know."

* * * * *

May 5, 1970

It was about five in the morning when Mack heard the newspaper hit the office door and went out to pick it up. She spread it out on the desk in front of her and gasped; the two-inch high headline read FOUR DEAD IN OHIO. Above the banner were two five-inch-high photographs. On the left, a company of troops marched through the Cambodian jungle, weapons drawn, bayonets at the ready. On the right, a company of Ohio National Guard strode across the Kent State campus, weapons drawn, bayonets at the ready.

She put her head down on the desk and cried.

* * * * *

The phone was ringing in her dorm room when Mack got back that morning.

"Student Mobe— Uh, I mean, hello?"

"Mack?" The voice was hollow-sounding and far away.

"Yeah?"

"It's me."

"How nice for you. Who's me?"

"It's Leo McGarry."

She smiled, and the edge disappeared from her voice. "Hi. Where are you?"

"Boston. Are you OK?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Well I saw the news last night, and the paper this morning. . ."

Mack laughed. "That's in Ohio, I'm in California!"

"And how long will it take before it happens there?" His voice was a mixture of anger and concern.

"I don't know, but if it comes, it comes," she answered, a bit defiantly. "Half my friends are hiding under their desks, but goddammit, they're gonna have to kill me to shut me up."

"Don't _say_ that, Mack! You don't know what these people are capable of."

"Excuse me?" she asked. "Where were _you_ when these guys were taking our pictures and tapping our phones?"

"Getting shot at so you could be fat and happy and free!" he exclaimed.

She sighed. "I know. I'm sorry."

"Me too. I shouldn't have yelled. I'll be there tomorrow."

"Say again?"

"I'll be there tomorrow, I'm catching a transport out at midnight."

"But why? I mean—"

"Well if you don't _want_ me there . . . " She could hear him grin.

"No, no, I do! I mean—" she laughed. "I'll be very glad to see you. I'll call Dan and see if you can stay at his place."

"Oh," he said, sounding disappointed. "I was hoping that we could stay at Lani's again . . ."

Mack blushed. "Well, I can ask . . . "

"Do that, wouldja? And I'll call you when I get in."

"OK, I'll probably be at the office. I can come pick you up if it's after I get off work."

"Nah, I'll meet you at the office."

"OK. See you tomorrow then."

"Hey Mack?"

She grinned. "Yeah?"

"I've thought about you a lot."

"I'll see you tomorrow," she said and hung up the phone with a smile.

* * * * * 

It was nearly nine before he got to the campus, and he drove up in a rented Corvette convertible. She was sitting on the lawn across the street from the office, and she greeted him with peals of delighted laughter.

He jumped out of the car without opening the door, and ran over to where she was sitting. Picking her up off the lawn, he spun her around and down toward the curb until they stood facing one another next to the passenger side of the car. "Your chariot awaits," he said softly, opening the door for her.

"You are absolutely out of your mind!" she said.

"Yep," he answered, "and you ain't seen nothin' yet." He jumped over the driver's side door and back into the seat and they roared off, up University Avenue and headed out the Santa Monica Freeway.

"Where are we going?" she shouted against the wind.

"You'll find out when we get there!" he yelled back, laughing.

She was astonished when they pulled into the parking lot of the Beverly Wilshire Hotel, that elegant old grande dame of the carriage trade. When they reached the entrance, he hopped out of the car and threw the keys to the valet, then ran around and opened the door on her side of the car. As they walked past the desk he reached into his watch pocket and pulled out a room key, waving it at the clerk.

He grabbed Mack's hand and half-ran toward the elevators, as if they were racing someone to their destination. "What's the hurry?" she asked, laughing.

"You don't know?" he responded with a grin.

"Well I can _guess,_" she answered, "but are the sex police after us?"

He backed her into a corner of the elevator and kissed her hard. "If they are, we're definitely busted."

She slipped her arms around his waist. "Well I hope they lock us up together."

The elevator doors opened and he led her down the hall and slipped the key inside the lock of one of the doors. It fell open to reveal a splendidly-decorated room. He threw the 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the door and grinned at Mack. "Now, if you don't want to be trying to fit into something of mine," he said, "you'd best be taking those things off before I tear into 'em."

She backed away from him playfully and laughed. "But I thought you liked unwrapping presents!"

"I love unwrapping presents," he responded, "but when I'm impatient—" He grabbed for her and missed. "—sometimes the paper gets torn."

He stepped sideways just as she feinted the other direction, and he was able to grab her shirt-tail. He pulled it toward him and they both giggled as the buttons on the shirt went flying, ripped from their anchors.

"See?" he asked, as he wrapped his arms tightly around her and picked her up of the floor.

"OK, OK! Uncle! Put me down!" She was laughing so hard she could barely talk.

They tumbled onto the bed, and as he loosened his hold on her she reached up and tore _his_ shirt open. More buttons went flying. "Two can play that game y'know."

That was when they stopped talking.

* * * * *

It was around nine that night when she woke him up.

"Hmmmm??" he opened one eye.

She stood beside him, tying her now-buttonless shirt together at the waist over one of his tees. "You want me to hitch back to school?" she asked.

"Fuck no," he said. "I want you to come back to bed."

"I gotta go babe," she answered. "Time to go do the office thing."

He sat up, rubbed his face and shook his head. "You're serious, aren't you?"

"As a heart attack. There's shit to do now, more than ever. I got Z-runs to do all over the neighborhood."

He sighed in resignation. "Z-runs?"

"Putting up flyers. Didn't you see Costa-Gavras?"

"Hey, cut me some slack. I'm half asleep. Remind me."

"_Z_, the movie. About the Greek revolutionary that the government assassinates, only to see his face pop up on walls everywhere with the caption '_zei_' – 'he lives'."

"Oh yeah. But what does that have to do with what you're doing?"

"Babe, every time somebody stands up and says no, enough, Bobby and Martin and those four kids from Kent live on."

"Don't you ever get enough of saying enough?" he grumbled as he pulled his jeans back on.

She threw one arm around his neck and kissed him. "Not till every American mother's son is back home safe. Let's go."

* * * * *

The next two days were frantic, volunteers spilling out of the office as they prepared for a huge rally in Alumni Park. Mack was thrilled because one of her heroes was coming: Phil Ochs, the far left's troubadour, called the office and offered "to keep people occupied until the real speakers arrive." During the night she and Leo sat in the office, fielding messages and news from the New York to Honolulu, doing the scut work that there was neither time nor personnel to handle during daylight. And they argued.

"Leo, you don't understand. There have never been free elections in Vietnam. Eisenhower cancelled them because Ho was gonna win!"

"Of course he did, we couldn't have that happen!"

"What the hell gave us the right to make that decision??" Her voice was tight. "It's not our country."

"But if we don't stop them there—"

She walked over to where he was sitting and stroked his hair. "Babe, do you really think that the future of the United States of America is threatened by people who can't raise enough rice to feed themselves and their children? All they want is for us to get the hell out of their country and leave them alone."

He pulled her down on his lap. "And all I want is to be able to spend some time with you without arguing about politics. There's more to life than that."

She put her arms around his neck and kissed him, softly. "Tell ya what. After the rally we can declare a 24-hour moratorium on politics and concentrate on . . . other things."

He laughed. "Now there's a platform plank I can get behind."

"Yeah I know your party platform. Let's get down off this damn platform and have a party!"

"Yeah, I always did think that 'political party' was an oxymoron." He nibbled his way from her ear down to the hollow of her neck. "Wanna find out?"

"Definitely," she murmured, standing up and walking back toward the desk.

"Well then . . . " he said, looking confused.

"After the rally."

He sighed in exasperation.

* * * * *

The rally began at noon with several student speakers. Returned veterans stepped up to the microphone with their stories of pride and horror, hubris and courage; and then the singing started. A lot of the people present knew Ochs' songs and so there was a large and enthusiastic chorus for almost every one, but Mack and Leo couldn't concentrate on the performance because Mack, as a marshal, had to keep an eye on the dark-suited FBI agents wandering around with cameras. 

Leo gaped at them. "Do these guys actually think you don't know who they are and what they're doing?"

"It's the Fucking Bunch of Idiots, babe. They think if they leave their fedoras at home they're camouflaged. And you watch – they'll nail you for a vet and start trying to pry names out of you."

"They can't be that stupid," he answered, shaking his head.

"Your tax dollars at work," she grinned. "Just watch. And remember, no matter who they point to, the name is Bebe Rebozo."

After the main speakers of the afternoon, the crowd spontaneously began to sing Ochs' anthem of resistance, _I Ain't Marchin' Anymore_:

__

It's always the old to lead us to the wars, always the young to fall.

Now look at all we've won with a sabre and a gun,

Tell me is it worth it all?

Now the labor leader's screamin' when they close the missile plants, United Fruit screams at the Cuban shore.

Call it peace or call it treason, call it love or call it reason,

But I ain't a-marchin' anymore, no, I ain't a-marchin' anymore.

By the end of the song, many of the vets in the crowd had congregated on one side and joined arms. Mack could see Leo in their midst, standing with his back to the crowd and one hand over his eyes. She crossed the park as quickly as she could, but the rally had begun to break up by the time she reached him; he was surrounded by his brothers-in-arms, several with their arms around his shoulder or his back.

A friend of Mack's—and one of the vets who had addressed the crowd—saw her coming and tapped her shoulder.

"Hi Steve. Great speech."

"Thanks." He jerked his thumb in Leo's direction. "He a friend of yours?"

"Yeah," she answered. "He OK?"

"He just got it. After he comes down you may want to hook him up with VVAW."

"What happened?"

"Something about his brother?"

"Oh yeah, his little brother enlisted, wound up on a river patrol, took one in the Delta. His CO wouldn't let him off the carrier to bring the body home. And his mother? I think she blames him, at least partly."

"Oh man," he said. "That sucks."

"Yeah." She took a deep breath. "Well OK, thanks for the heads-up." She embraced Steve and kissed him on the cheek, then continued toward the little huddle around Leo. She came around in front of him and saw his tear-stained face, and took him in her arms in silence.

"Take him home," one of the guys said.

"Wish I could," she answered. "I live in the fucking dorm." She thought a minute, then said, "We're goin' over to the CRC. Maybe Father Al will be there."

They walked across campus in silence, and when they got to the Religious Center they found a large group of students who had come from the rally. In their midst was a diminutive young man in jeans and a sweater, a shock of dark hair hanging in his eyes. He saw Mack and waved.

"Hey, Father," she said.

"He's a priest?" Leo asked.

"Yup. He would have been there today except he spent the last few days in Delano with the United Farm Workers, running food and blankets to the strikers and helping with the kids." She hugged the young priest, then turned back to Leo. "Father Al, this is Leo McGarry. I think maybe you two should talk."

Al put his arm around Leo's shoulder and looked him straight in the eye. "Come on, let's go find someplace quiet."

As they walked away, Mack heard Leo say, "Father, will you hear my confession?"

* * * * * 

May 15, 1970

It was the last night they had before he went back to Boston to spend the summer organizing on behalf of Vietnam Veterans Against the War, whom he had joined after the rally the week before. He had been accepted to start law school back east in the fall, with the support and encouragement of friends and family, especially his friend Jed who would be returning to the States around the same time.

They hadn't said much that night, spending most of the time in the office on mindless repetitive scut work, carefully avoiding yet another argument around why neither of them could uproot and move across country. When the newspaper hit the door Leo went out to get it; when he returned he was pale as a ghost.

"What's the matter?" Mack asked him.

He didn't answer, but just threw the paper down on the desk.

__

Oh my God, she thought; _they've done it again_. This time the school was Jackson State College in Mississippi, and there were only two dead, but one of the two was a high school student who had nothing to do with the campus unrest, and who had been shot in the back.

They looked at one another, both afraid to speak; she just crossed the room to where he was standing and put her arms around his waist. He wrapped her tightly in his arms and bent to whisper in her ear. "Please," he said. "They're not gonna stop there. Walk away now, before you get hurt."

"I can't," she responded. "I have to do this, for the two hundred thousand guys risking their necks over there, for the ones who'll die if we don't stop this idiocy." She buried her face in his shoulder. "You could stay here, VVAW can use you here, we have a law school here."

"Don't, Mack," he pleaded. "We've been through this and through it and through it. When we're both done with what we're doing . . ."

She smiled sadly. "Yeah."

* * * * * (list)

late January, 2001

Leo smiled as he let himself into their apartment, hearing the music coming from the den. _Not often I hear that one_, he thought as he hung up his coat and put his valise on the entryway table. He wandered into the hallway, looking around for her, and headed for the den where the stereo was. The newly-placed frame on the inside wall caught his eye:

"The Regents and Faculty of the University of Southern California . . . grant to Sarah Cooper McCarthy the degree of Bachelor of Arts."

__

She hung up her college diploma?, he thought. _And that's the Stones on the stereo . . . Oh God, she remembered._ A broad smile crept across his features, and he leaned out of the door to the den, into the condo hallway.

"Hey Mack!" he yelled.

A loud growl issued from the guest bedroom, and a dark-haired whirlwind on wheels exploded into the hall. "You!!!!!" she howled, laughing. "You are _sooooooooooo_ in trouble!!"

He sat down on his heels as she pulled up next to him and kissed him hello. "When did _you_ remember?" she asked.

"When I saw the pictures in your FBI file," he answered with a sheepish grin.

"That long ago? And you let me babble on about when I was a kid? About what might have happened if we'd met sooner?" She gave an exaggerated sigh. "That does it, you're camping in the guest room."

"Hey wait a minute, this is my house!"

"And your point is?"

He laughed. "Am I gonna be sorry I asked you to move in here?"

"Probably," she answered. "And I'm probably gonna be sorry I did."

"And _your _point is?" He stood up and pulled off his tie and his jacket, heading for the bedroom.

"Does the President—"

Leo shook his head no. "It's not like you guys had a long involved conversation."

Sarah giggled. "True. At least I kept my word."

"Which was .. ?"

"I said I'd come and find you. It only took me thirty years. And I didn't know it was you."

"The devil's in the details, Toots."

"Well don't take those pants off, you're calling whoever it is you call when we go out for a midnight supper. You owe me, mister."

"Aye aye, ma'am."

* * * * *

Early that Sunday afternoon they got into a taxi and headed for the Mall. "I could drive, y'know," she grumbled.

"You are not gonna drive, Toots, you'll be in no shape when we leave."

"Where are the flowers?" she asked anxiously.

"They're in the trunk. Chill."

"I should think you'd know how much this means to me, Leo."

He cringed a little. "Sorry. I forget you've never been there."

"Never had the guts before." She reached out and took his hand and they rode across the District in silence for awhile. "You know," she began again, "it says something that I spent two hours on the Net and wasn't able to find those two kids' names."

"I'll get 'em for ya, Toots. First thing Monday."

"I just hope nobody tries to lynch me for this."

His eyes flashed. "They'd better not, they'll have one pissed-off retired jet jockey to deal with."

It was drizzling and cold when they reached the Mall, but Sarah didn't bother with an umbrella or her poncho. Leo was carrying a small wreath, and pointed out where they needed to go. "He's over here."

Together they walked in silence up to the black granite wall, lost in their own thoughts. He went directly to the spot where he'd stood so many times before, took off his gloves and stroked the stone. "Hey, Jack," he whispered. "I brought somebody to meet ya." He reached behind him to take her hand, and pull her up next to him, next to his brother's name. Together they laid the little wreath at the base of the panel.

Then she bent down and propped a hand-lettered sign up between the wreath and the granite. It had four names on it: Jeffery Miller, Sandra Scheuer, William Schroeder, Allison Krause. Four more casualties of the war, only they died in Ohio in the sun rather than in the jungle or the river or the sea.

Leo leaned over and pressed his forehead against the stone. "Bye Jack. Seeya soon." As they headed back toward the street, the ribbon on the wreath was blown up against the wall and stuck to its surface. Written on it were five words: "It's just a shot away."


End file.
